


Misery loves company

by Nerdylittleangelenthusiast (Anderseeds)



Series: Supernatural Works [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Come as Lube, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Lucifer, Protective Lucifer, Top Lucifer (Supernatural), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28412214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Nerdylittleangelenthusiast
Summary: A day ago, Asmodeus had said Castiel’s vessel was too pristine to be an effective bargaining chip. A few hours ago – by Castiel’s shaky estimation – efforts to rectify that had begun, and now he was being dragged back to his cell much worse for wear than how he’d entered it.Castiel has a bad time while imprisoned by Asmodeus. Lucifer is surprisingly helpful, and eventually gets dragged into the mix.
Relationships: Castiel/Lucifer (Supernatural)
Series: Supernatural Works [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068692
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	Misery loves company

**Author's Note:**

> Getting in one more fic before the end of the year! And what a shitty year it was!! Happy New Year in advance, lets hope 2021 sucks a little less.

A day ago, Asmodeus had said Castiel’s vessel was too pristine to be an effective bargaining chip. A few hours ago – by Castiel’s shaky estimation – efforts to rectify that had begun, and now he was being dragged back to his cell much worse for wear than how he’d entered it.

The exhaustion prevented him from throwing his arms up in time to catch himself on the wall, so he ended up striking his head and crumbling like a sack to the floor. The clang of the door being shut barely registered. He was too occupied with trying to drag himself onto his elbows so when he inevitably vomited the blood surging up his throat he wouldn’t choke on it. The moment he’d lifted himself, the violent, full-body retching began, sending red spilling to the cement in thick globs that looked like they had more than just blood in them. His entire body quaked from the force of each expulsion and he collapsed, utterly exhausted, once they’d eased off.

His whittled grace worked sluggishly at his wounds. They hadn’t taken enough to prevent the grace from regenerating, but they had taken enough to hamper his ability to heal. He needed to focus if he was to be restored before the next round of torture, least he have further injuries laid over his current ones.

“Finished vomiting up your lungs, Castiel?”

Castiel groaned at the sound of his brothers voice. “I’m in no mood to deal with you right now,” he grated out.

“Tough,” said Lucifer. “You aren’t healing yourself, so I assume you _can’t_ , and you’re useless to me looking, sounding and _smelling_ like roadkill. I need you awake and working on recovery.”

“Appreciate the concern,” said Castiel wryly, placing his feverishly hot forehead against the cement. The cool that radiated from it soothed the thumping behind his skull. He'd spent so much time tensing that he'd given himself a tension headache on top of everything else.

“You should," said Lucifer. "Because I’m the only one who’s going to extend you any for the foreseeable future.”

Castiel gave one long, loud exhale and wiped the blood on his lips off with the back of a hand. “Worry about yourself. Asmodeus seems like he has a bone to pick with you, and if you continue back-talking him that’ll probably become literal.”

“Monitoring you is worrying about myself,” said Lucifer, undeterred by Castiel’s protests, because of course he wasn’t. “You can’t lend me your grace if you don’t _have_ any. You need to get well.”

Castiel cleared his throat and spat one last glob of red onto the brick, wrinkling his nose at the pungent scent of copper and bile that followed. After shifting out of the way of the mess, he lowered his aching body to the floor and closed his eyes- not to sleep, though he was tempted, but to focus on spreading his grace to his most dire injuries.

“I never agreed to give you any,” he murmured.

“This stingy behaviour is why you’re so unpopular among your own kind," said Lucifer. 

“No," protested Castiel. "I’m unpopular because I aligned with humanity and decimated heavens numbers.”

“That too,” said Lucifer, dismissive. “What’s the plan then? If you’re refusing me, you must have one.”

Castiel couldn’t see Lucifer, but he could hear him move to lean against the wall directly beside Castiel.

“Or are you just gonna let them torture you every day and hope those apes of your swoop in for the rescue?”

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, which he knew was a poor answer, but his current state of health prevented him from coming up with something more substantial. He was barely able to follow a conversation, let alone conceive of a plan of escape.

“So nothing, right?” asked Lucifer, mocking as ever. “Is that right?”

Castiel wished there wasn’t a barrier between them, because he would have liked Lucifer to see the roll of his eyes. “Try asking when I have more than a litre of blood left in my vessel, you ass.”

“You had plenty of time to think before being dragged off to be tortured,” said Lucifer. “Guessing you didn’t come up with anything then, hm? Just accept facts, Cassandra: the only way we’re getting out of here is if-“

“Stop talking.” Castiel groaned, then shuddered, pain sweeping through him as he worked at mending his broken ribs. His tormentors had managed to snap three, maybe four – usually he’d have an exact number, but they’d made such a mess of his chest it was hard to tell. Beneath his shirt, he was sure his entire torso was a canvas of blacks, yellows and blues.

Surprisingly, Lucifer did fall silent. Only for a moment, but that was longer than he’d ever expected from the man.

“You need to sit up,” snapped Lucifer, and Castiel almost did out of shock at Lucifer speaking _seriously_ for once.

“What?”

“Sit up,” said Lucifer again, calmer this time. “You’ll heal faster if your ribs are in a straight orientation, and I can hear you pathetically fetal-curling over there. So sit up.”

Spite almost compelled Castiel to refuse. ‘Cut off the face to spite the nose’, or whatever the saying was, but Lucifer was probably right about the orientation thing and he was in no position to be fussy about where help came from. Dragging in a whistling breath, he planted one of his hands flat on the ground and heaved himself upright. The effort sent pain shuddering through him, bringing a shout to his lips and a humiliating glassiness to his eyes. He very nearly vomited again.

“All these years and you still don’t know how your vessel works.” Lucifer clucked his tongue. “You still with me, Cas?”

Castiel confirmed his consciousness with a grunt.

“Good, good. Talk to me.” A pause, and then he added, “Tell me more about my son.”

“I don’t think I… I have anything you want to hear,” Castiel grated out, looking into the hallway through his eyelashes, trying to find something other than his agony to focus on. Lucifer was right, though: he was better able to heal his wounds in this position, could feel bones righting themselves as he sat.

“That didn’t stop you earlier,” said Lucifer, with an edge of hostility that was smoothed over by the time he resumed speaking. “So, he likes silly little fantasy movies- what else?”

“Beer,” offered Castiel.

“Beer? He’s practically an infant and you’re already letting him have alcohol? And here I thought I’d be the one introducing vices.” Lucifer made a thoughtful noise. “Not the one I would have crossed off first, but it’s a start.”

“Dean’s idea.” Castiel cleared his throat, wincing at the pain that flared up his chest. “He likes nougat as well. Most confectioneries, actually, but he- he avoids excess. He’s a well-behaved young man, unlike his father.”

He heard a faint scowl from the adjacent cell.

“Is there any part of him you haven’t infected?”

“I didn’t do anything,” said Castiel, taking a few short breaths before continuing. “From what I’ve heard, he emerged an innocent, considerate young man and those qualities have only been exemplified with the passing of time.” He swallowed and licked his lips. “You can’t ruin him, Lucifer. He won’t be like you.”

The slam of a fist against the barrier between them was jarring enough to make him jump. Castiel sluggishly raised his head, a rasping laugh crawling up his throat. There was another strike in response, weaker than the last.

“Maybe,” said Lucifer, oddly breathless. “Maybe ‘ruining’ him isn’t all I want. Have you considered that? He’s my son. Maybe I just want to be part of his life.”

Castiel snorted. “You always have an ulterior motive.”

“Castiel.” The faintest of beseeching tones had reached Lucifer’s voice. “I came to you with the intention of saving your ass. Saving _all_ your asses, and you’re not going to extend me even the slightest benefit of the doubt?”

“Your ass is among those that would be saved,” pointed out Castiel.

“That isn’t my only motivation,” said Lucifer. “Family means something to me. You know that. My son- Jack – he’s the only thing I’ve created- really created, not just twisted into shape from pre-existing materials, and I need-!” A grit of teeth, a breath forced past the gaps. He could hear Lucifer beginning to pace. “I can see I’m going to need to go through you if I’m to have a relationship with him, so I need you to understand that.”

Castiel's failing health wasn’t ideal for a conversation like this. It was a struggle to come up with even his most terse, non-committal responses. He dragged his eyes away from the hallway to stare at the wall, as though he could will himself to see through it if he tried hard enough. What little mental energy he had left was being expended on imagining just what expression Lucifer was wearing right now. He was a little curious; he'd never seen Lucifer desperate. Maybe it would have been gratifying. 

“Forgive me for my doubt, but you’ve given me little reason for confidence.” His voice was getting fainter. The closer he got to using up the last of his strength, the harder it was to keep his eyelids from drooping. “You killed me. Twice.”

“One of those times was after you molotoved my brother,” said Lucifer. “So a demonstration of my love for family, clearly.”

“Am I not your brother also?”

“It’s only fitting for an elder to discipline the younger generation, don’t you think?”

“Ass,” was all Castiel was able to drag from his steadily disengaging mind.

Another strike to the wall started Castiel from the precipice of unconsciousness. This time it was followed by a low hiss.

“I told you to stay awake.”

He heard Lucifer’s knuckles crack, followed by another low hiss. What’d he done; broken his hand? Castiel was faintly amused by the thought.

“Stop punching the wall.” He spoke chastisingly, like a _big_ brother to a _little_ brother. Regardless of when they’d been created, he felt himself the more mature one. “Your tantrums won’t do you any good here.”

“I wasn’t having a tantrum,” Lucifer snarled, sounding very much like he was having a tantrum _now_ even if he hadn’t been a moment ago. “I was waking you up. Give me a little damn credit.”

The surprise of Lucifer harming himself for Castiel’s benefit did more to awaken Castiel than the punch had. He didn't quite know what to make of it.

“You know,” said Lucifer into the quiet. “I never wanted to kill you, Castiel. I never even wanted to fight you. I saw an ally in you. A kindred spirit.”

Moment of surprise over. “We are nothing alike,” said Castiel, annoyed, and Lucifer’s response came almost before he’d managed to finish speaking.

“The point is, this isn’t how I wanted things to be between us. I never wanted to be on opposite sides.”

“Well, we are.” He turned to face the bars again as their guard, Dipper, ambled on past. Dipper's glance in was fleeting, and he smiled upon seeing Castiel's condition.

Once Dipper had disappeared again, Lucifer leapt back into their conversation. “I’m trying to extend you an olive branch here."

“So you can get something from me,” said Castiel, making no attempt to hide the fatigue in his voice. “You should have acted like a brother sooner.”

Lucifer exhaled heavily, which was followed by a lengthy silence broken only by the pad of his feet. He was pacing again. “I’m going to sing,” said Lucifer, finally. “Let me know when you’ve finished healing.”

For one who loathed humanity, Lucifer was surprisingly knowledgeable in their music, spitting out the lyrics of global hits one after the other like this was a completely normal thing for an archangel to be versed in. He even knew what number they were on the global hit list and would provide it like a radio host before each off-tune rendition. The singing successfully kept Castiel awake. It also intensified his headache, but compared to his broken ribs, that was a mild irritation.

The moment he’d managed to fix the worst of the damage, he informed Lucifer as much and promptly drifted into a pleasant fugue.

* * *

Once, Castiel had found pain a curiosity. Conflicts where he was injured had been few and far between when he’d been a soldier of heaven, and the first few times he’d been harmed in his current vessel had been fascinating, in a way. The hot throb of bullet wounds, the sting of a blade, the feel of a hand fisted around his throat- they were sensations that had barely penetrated his mind when he’d been at full power and able to numb his nerves, so he’d been able to examine them safely, as though from a distance.

As time had passed, his defences had weakened and left him vulnerable in a way he never had been before, and now he knew pain as an old companion. It'd made him plea, it'd made him crawl, it'd elicited whimpers and screams and sounds he hadn't even known he could make, and it was a wonder how Sam and Dean had managed to persevere through their respective traumas because he was a celestial being and he was overcome by the pain so damn fast. He didn’t think he would have been able to endure thirty years of torture in hell, let alone over a century in the cage. He was barely dealing with torture at the hands of Asmodeus’ cronies. He felt frustratingly, horribly weak as they tore his composure apart, and that was almost as unbearable as the torture itself.

His throat gave out on him somewhere after the fifth hour of being in the hands of the demons. His last scream was still ringing in his ears as an angel blade was applied to his stomach, drawing forth a wheeze in lieu of a shout. The demons had been taking note of what places drew the loudest screams, so the fact Castiel didn’t provide them with anything except a breath had them momentarily confused and fumbling with the blade, before it finally registered why Castiel wasn’t offering his usual lively response. That didn’t stop them from continuing.

He became aware of moisture on his cheeks when the demons finally deemed him downtrodden enough to return to his cell. He must have wept. He hadn’t even noticed, and it was a humiliating realisation. They didn’t even give him the opportunity to wipe his face dry before he was being hauled down the hallway and thrown into a cell; not his, surprisingly, but Lucifer’s, who jolted upright upon Castiel’s body being unceremoniously dumped on his floor.

“Aren’t we supposed to keep them separate?” asked one of the demons.

“That was just a precaution.” The door slammed shut. “We won’t need to siphon his grace anymore, with those Enochian sigils I carved, and you-!” He snapped a fist against the bars. Castiel sluggishly lifted his head to look up at him. “No, not you, kid. Lucy. _You_ aren’t going to get so much as a mouthful out of him now.”

“I’m going to crush your skull like a grape when I get out of here, just so you know,” said Lucifer, and there was enough malice in his voice that the demon looked mildly unsettled.

“Good luck with that,” said the demon, with a confidence that was clearly feigned. “We’ve got plans for you two. Sit tight and play nice. Dipper'll be keeping an eye.”

The demons took their leave and Castiel heard ‘what if he hurts the angel?’ before their voices became inaudible. It was a concern Castiel shared, his wide eyes flicking to Lucifer as Lucifer came to kneel beside him. Castiel’s first instinct was to flee to the opposite end of the cell and plant his back up against the wall so Lucifer would only have one side he could attack, but he could barely raise himself onto his elbows, let alone drag himself away from Lucifer. Even if he’d had the strength, the pain of movement probably would have incapacitated him.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed. His injuries were severe enough there was a chance he wouldn't live through Lucifer attempting to consume what little of his grace remained. There was barely a sip in him, not enough to empower Lucifer, but he couldn’t put anything past the man. “Return to your seat. Don’t touch me.”

“Calm down,” said Lucifer, briefly throwing up his hands in mock-surrender. “I’m not going to do anything to you.”

“You’ve said that before,” said Castiel, accusatory. 

Lucifer tilted forward on the balls of his feet. “If I wanted to do something to you, Castiel, I would have started immediately to avoid our warden from intervening.”

Any further protests were silenced when Lucifer yanked his shirt up to his clavicle and began examining the mess it had concealed. He gave a low whistle and Castiel flinched, unable to find the calm Lucifer had requested. His shoulders were lifted so high, so tense, that they probably would have registered within the lines on a spirit level.

Upon finishing his assessment, Lucifer released the shirt and started patting at the pockets of his jacket.

“Didn’t even bother to clean you up,” he said, clucking his tongue. His fingers ventured into a breast pocket and he made an ‘ah ha!’ sound, withdrawing a thin pack of tissues. “Didn’t bother emptying out the pockets before grabbing this jacket. So, stomach or face first?”

He registered the question before the context, which momentarily had Castiel’s body winding even tighter. Fortunately, he managed to process the rest before he acted on the presumed threat.

“Why?" said Castiel.

Lucifer made a show of rolling his eyes. “Do you want me to try consuming that useless trickle you have? Is that what you want? Because I will if you’d prefer that over me helping you.”

“I’m just.” Castiel swallowed. “Surprised.”

“I can be nice,” said Lucifer, a little indignant. He made Castiel’s choice for him, shuffling up to prop Castiel’s head up on one of his knees and applying a tissue to his split lip. “Keep still for me.”

It felt odd to be cared like this, as though by an older brother. Which Lucifer was, technically, but he’d never acted like one until now. It took Castiel several minutes to stop tensing at every touch, and once the fear had faded to something tolerable he began to focus on the cool radiating through Lucifer’s thighs instead. It was pleasant, that chill. Comforting, which wasn’t a word he thought he’d ever apply to Lucifer. Even with his grace so whittled, Lucifer gave off a profound cold and Castiel found himself involuntarily curling toward it, his feverishly hot forehead brushing Lucifer’s stomach. If he pressed hard enough, he could just about feel what remained of Lucifer’s grace thrumming under Lucifer’s skin.

There was a comfort inherent in sharing proximity with another angel, not unlike the comfort an animal might get from being among its pack. Lucifer might have been fallen, but evidently he still qualified enough to arouse that primordial part of Castiel.

“Didn’t take you for a cuddler,” said Lucifer with a sharp smile, then he carefully readjusted Castiel’s head so he could run a tissue along a shallow cut on Castiel’s cheekbone.

Castiel’s seldom-used facial capillaries filled out in a rush of heat. His ears warmed too, which wasn’t even a place he’d known humans could blush. Covering his no doubt vibrantly coloured cheeks with a hand, Castiel shuffled back until his nose was no longer dragging on the folds of Lucifer’s tank top.

“Be silent,” he muttered, no energy behind the demand.

Lucifer seemed determined to embarrass him further, as he slipped his free hand into Castiel’s hair and that felt wonderful too. Castiel had enough strength that he could have shaken Lucifer off, told Lucifer that he should stick to addressing his wounds, but it seemed too great an effort when all Lucifer was doing was providing him with comfort. He couldn’t muster up enough hostility to extract himself completely from the first gentle touches he’d experienced since his capture. He needed to conserve his energy, he reasoned. Just in case Lucifer did decide to attack at some point.

Those long fingers of Lucifer's drifted through the thick of his hair and traced endless lines into the crown of his head, a pleasant countenance to the sting of his injuries being cleaned, and it was so comforting that Castiel started unwinding, the knots he'd tensed into unravelling little by little. 

It was surprising how human this all was. The position they were in, the gentle touches to his face and hair- those were the sort of things generally reserved for humans, because humans hadn’t been made to be cold, unfeeling things like angels had; they hadn’t been made to be perfect marble statues of piety. Angels usually demonstrated affection in different ways, particularly as their true forms didn’t make the physical kind easy to achieve. For all Lucifer hated humanity, it had clearly influenced him in ways he didn’t even notice.

Castiel had found over the years that he favoured the human way of showing affection. Hugs, hand holding, kisses, sex- the last one he’d only done once, but it had been a pleasant experience, and he wouldn’t have been opposed to trying it again when he had the time for such things. Every way humans had of conveying love was beautiful.

“Do the sigil’s prevent you from healing?” asked Lucifer, jarring Castiel from his trailing thoughts. He was having a hard time keeping focus on the present.

Castiel cleared some of the blood from his throat before responding. “Just stops my grace from regenerating. There’s still some there, working at my injuries.”

“How long will it take?”

“Long enough that I doubt I’ll be finished before they drag me out again,” said Castiel.

“You’ll survive,” said Lucifer, which was true since he was a bargaining chip, but it did little to reassure Castiel.

With his face now clean, Lucifer hitched up his shirt and started work on the bloody mess beneath. There weren’t enough tissues to get rid of everything, so he scraped off some of the congealing blood with his nails first, drawing a low hiss from Castiel. Several of his wounds were still open, gaping. It’d be some time before he’d be able to will his body to close them.

Though Lucifer approached the cleaning with greater care than Castiel would have thought him capable of, he still ended up grasping at Lucifer’s arm during the more painful parts, nails digging weakly into the scratchy fabric of his jacket. At some point during his writhing he became curled around Lucifer, face pressed into his stomach again, body trembling, and he was too exhausted to be appropriately embarrassed about it when the pain abated enough for him to realise what he was doing. He rolled just enough to put himself on his back instead of his side and closed his eyes against the sight of Lucifer’s bemused face.

Lucifer didn’t say anything, perhaps aware that Castiel would pull away completely if he spoke. His fingers, now sullied with gore, were wiped off on a pant leg and threaded back into Castiel’s hair. The petting resumed, and just like before, Castiel acquiesced. He found such deep comfort in each delicate stroke of his hair that he made a note to berate himself for his weakness later, once he had enough energy to expend on self-loathing.

“Why are you doing this?” he murmured into the quiet, the words coming without forethought. It took him a moment to realise he’d spoken at all.

Lucifer’s hand paused. “Is it helping?”

Castiel pursed his lips. He could have ignored the question, pressed on, but if he did that, he was sure Lucifer would come to his own conclusions anyway. “Yes.”

“That’s why,” said Lucifer. “Is it so hard to believe I can be good?”

“Yes,” said Castiel.

“Ouch.” Lucifer sounded genuinely hurt, and Castiel cracked open his eyes to look up at him. He was facing away, staring at the wall instead of at Castiel.

Castiel considered him with a frown. Perhaps it would be wise to encourage this giving behaviour instead of dwelling on past wrongs. As long as he remained vigilant, nothing bad could come of it. “Thank you,” he said, decisive, and closed his eyes again so he wouldn’t have to see what response he received to his show of gratitude.

The stroking continued, lulling him into a dreamless slumber. 

* * *

The next time the demons came to retrieve Castiel, Lucifer attempted to attack them. Which, of course, the demons were prepared for, and he was subdued with an embarrassing amount of ease and chained by the ankle to a bolt in the floor. This was the outcome Castiel had expected, and had even told Lucifer was likely to happen, but he inclined his head in a mild expression of gratitude anyway, because this marked the second time Lucifer had _tried_ to be helpful since he’d been freed from the cage all those years ago. Not a high number, but considering it used to be zero…

For this torture session, the demons decided to forgo the angel blades in favour of heated knives. After the first hour of being subjected to the scent of his own burning flesh, Castiel began to miss the angel blades. The only smell that had clogged up his nostrils during their use had been that of copper, and the pain had faded to a throb much faster than the burns did. The injuries weren’t as severe as those inflicted by a weapon made to harm angels, but the pain remained strong for so long that Castiel would have asked for the earlier torture to resume had he even the slightest hope the demons would provide him that reprieve.

(It wasn’t lost on him that a different kind of torture shouldn’t have been regarded as a reprieve).

They burned the sole of one of his feet before hoisting him off the rack, so he was limping when they threw him back into a cell. Once again, Lucifer’s cell instead of his own. He dropped to his knees without the support of the demons, his thighs quaking under the effort of holding himself off the ground.

“Tried something new, did they?”

With considerable effort, he raised his head to look at Lucifer, who was sitting on the floor with- with a stick. A stick he was rubbing along the ground to sharpen it, like he was trying to fashion a stake. Castiel snorted.

“Yes.” He slowly lowered himself to the ground, tugging his shirt up and pressing his chest flat against the stone. The chill of it soothed the insults the demons had taken turns burning into his skin. He didn’t know what they were; he’d been too busy writhing to pay the letters much mind, and he only knew they were insults because the demons had discussed what ones to write on him.

“Can’t let things get too monotonous.” Lucifer laughed like this remark was the height of comedy (it wasn't) and came to sit at Castiel’s side.

With one hand, Lucifer continued to work at the stick; the other was buried in Castiel’s hair, nails skating along his scalp and periodically tracing the shell of an ear. Despite himself, Castiel leaned into that gentle contact. It served as a distraction from how much pain he was in.

“You won’t be able to get close enough to stab them,” he murmured, jerking his chin at the stick. “The chain doesn’t reach the door.”

“Luckily, that’s not what I intend to do with it.” Lucifer raised the stick to his lips and blew on it. It wasn’t very sharp yet. “I’m going to break your sigils.”

“If you wanted to do that, you could break my pelvis,” said Castiel. What was one more injury to the numerous he already had?

“That’s not discreet enough,” said Lucifer, though he didn’t sound entirely opposed to the idea. “I could reach inside, perhaps? But I’d still need to sharpen this to create an entry wound.”

“Reach inside-?”

Castiel knew from having shared a headspace with Lucifer that the man was fond of burying his fingers into people, and it elicited a shiver to think of Lucifer doing that to him. In his current state, he wouldn’t have been able to resist Lucifer if he held him down and tore him open. So far, the demons had refrained from using their hands on him, sticking to tools, and there was something uniquely awful about the thought of being reached into with fingers and nails and torn asunder. Without meaning to, he’d begun to tense, and judging by the way Lucifer’s stroking hand stuttered in his hair, he’d noticed.

“That’s a no, I take it.” Lucifer leaned closer, his eyelids lowered. “You have impeccably soft hair. I don’t know what shampoo you use, but it's just fantastic. Really. I think I can satisfy myself on it.”

Castiel pressed a breath out through clenched teeth. “Your stick is going to need to be sharper than that if you’re to damage bone with it.”

“I’m aware, Castiel. Why do you think I’m still working at it?” Lucifer gave it a few violent snaps against the ground and sighed. “It’d be done now if our guard didn’t keep looking in. He has some capacity for intelligent thought, unlike the others.” His eyes flicked to the cage bars, watching for their warden to idle on past like he did every few minutes.

“Will it be ready soon?” asked Castiel, because he wanted to be stabbed sooner rather than later. It’d give him more time to heal.

Lucifer twirled the stick through his fingers. “Mmm… why don’t you just lay pretty and I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” He let his hand drift along Castiel's scalp, his thumb grazing through the fine hairs at the nape of Castiel’s neck. It was pleasant enough that Castiel tilted into it on reflex.

“You can rest,” said Lucifer. “Once I’ve broken the sigil, those burns won’t be a problem.”

He would still need time to recover enough grace to heal effectively, but Castiel wasn’t going to say no to rest, to simply lying and forgetting his pain. Every word out of his mouth was an effort. The silence would be welcome.

Dipper strode past. Castiel closed his eyes and sunk into the absence of thought.

* * *

It became apparent why he was sharing a cell with Lucifer the following day.

They didn’t haul Castiel to the chamber. They didn’t even enter the cell. They just stood at the door and said:

“Have sex with each other.”

Both he and Lucifer balked. To be asked such a thing was repellent on its own, but there was some additional instinctive discomfort in two angels having sex. There was a reason angels had been made absent of genitalia. They weren't supposed to have sex with each other; with anyone, really, but certainly not each other, and it was such a strongly held belief that it wasn't even really an issue. Angels and humans had been caught having sex numerous times over the centuries. Angels and other angels hadn't. 

Lucifer looked more surprised than disgusted, and he was the first to respond.

“ _What_ did you just say?”

“Have sex with each other,” repeated one of the demons. He had bright green eyes that might have been a compelling feature on another, less malicious-looking face. “Seems like a pretty simple request to me.”

“That’s- that’s abhorrent, even for a demon,” spluttered Castiel, and the demon laughed.

“You think _that’s_ bad? You angels are delightfully innocent, can’t even begin to fathom the things that happen in hell.” He tilted his head, regarding Lucifer with a toothy smile. “Well, _you_ probably can, but you don’t really count as an angel anymore.”

Lucifer rose to his feet, chain clattering along the cement and degrading his attempt to look threatening. “And what’s the alternative if we refuse? Come on. Out with it. I know you’ve got some equally as filthy threat to hang over us.”

“Astute, aren’t you,” said Dipper. “If you refuse, we rally the boys and have an evening with your- Cassandra, was it?”

A chill enveloped Castiel from the crown of his head to the ends of his toes. He turned away, suddenly unable to hold the demons gazes now he knew they wished to violate him in such a manner. He didn’t want to look long enough to find hunger in their eyes.

“Wouldn’t mind a go with you either,” said one of the demons, the one sporting a beard and a considerable belly. “But we’re supposed to be extra cautious with you. Castiel, on the other hand- well, pretty damn far from an archangel, isn't he. Way easier to handle.”

Castiel scarcely breathed. Of all the places he’d expected the torture to go, this hadn’t been among them. Throughout history, he’d always looked away from such violations, shielded himself from them, so until now, it hadn’t even occurred to him that he could be a victim of such a thing. His stomach was turning now that he was realising he very much could be.

“Before you try,” said Dipper. “You aren’t going to be able to talk your way out of this. You’re going to have to make a decision, or we’ll make it for you.”

That was part of the torture, Castiel imagined. Making them decide upon Castiel’s fate. Any attempt he made to weight the pros and cons of each option was aborted out of sheer dread, so Castiel looked to Lucifer, who would ultimately have to decide on what to do anyway.

After some time, Lucifer sighed and approached him. His stick was sitting in the corner of the cell. No half-hatched plans of escape, evidently.

“Cas.” Lucifer gestured to the back of the cell. “Come and sit on the bench.”

Castiel curled his fingers into the knees of his trousers and turned his head away from the jeering of the demons. Maybe they were going to pleasure themselves to this. He didn’t want to see.

“Are you sure?” he asked, meeting Lucifer’s eyes. There was something uncharacteristically subdued about them.

“I’m not about to let you get raped by _filthy_ demons, little brother.” He cast a glower beyond Castiel, demonstrating his displeasure for said demons. “Better me than them.” Back to Castiel, eyes inquisitive. “Right?”

Castiel swallowed against the lump developing in his throat. He hated this vessel, sometimes; so many involuntary and unwelcome reactions to situations. “Yes,” he grated out, then slowly rose to his feet, the humiliation and trepidation clear on his face. He wanted to try slamming a fist between the bars, grab for one of the men, but he knew it wouldn’t work. And even if it did, he was too weak to be able to do anything from that point. His body still ached from yesterdays torture.

Lucifer spared him further conversation by harrying him across the room and sitting him on the bench. He was tall enough and broad enough that his body blocked out the sight of the demons, and Castiel relaxed marginally without being exposed to their jeering faces.

“You’re going to need to relax if you don’t want this to be agony from start to finish," said Lucifer. His hands dropped to Castiel’s belt, thumbs sliding over the buckle. “If you’re too tense, it’s going to be hell.”

“These aren’t exactly meditative circumstances, Lucifer," said Castiel. 

“Try.” Lucifer undid his belt, sliding the leather free of the loops. His fingers were nimble and practised. Seemed like he’d done this before; maybe multiple times, despite having little attraction to humans. He did seem the sort to chase pleasure regardless of where it came from. “And I’ll make an effort on my end to facilitate that,” he murmured, ducking low, his lips coming to rest on the crown of Castiel’s head.

Castiel lifted his hips to enable Lucifer to lower his trousers, shivering as his bare ass met the cold metal of the bench. He was still adjusting when Lucifer quite abruptly curled his fingers around Castiel’s cock and gave it a squeeze. That was enough to make Castiel jolt, his hands shooting up to grasp at either of Lucifer’s shoulders, trembling around the fabric. As Lucifer began to stroke, heat rose on his face and chest and his cock began to fill out in Lucifer’s fist. It’d been a long time since he’d received any sexual stimulation. He’d forgotten how overwhelming it could all be, how fast his body became hot and shaky. The tension was dribbling out of him and Lucifer had barely done anything.

He looked down, watching Lucifer’s hand work around him, fingers teasing the throbbing veins on the underside of his cock and thumb gliding over the slit on the head. Each touch drew a gasp and a shudder and his face was so hot now he could feel heat stinging behind his eyes. It hadn’t been like this with April: she’d mounted him almost immediately, slid down wet and hot onto his cock. There’d been little build up to speak of and it hadn’t even occurred to him that this was the sort of thing a partner would spend time on. Despite everything, despite their audience, despite it being Lucifer, despite his efforts to maintain self-control, he was finding the hand job dizzyingly good.

“Reactive, aren’t you.” Lucifer sounded pleased, his voice blocking out the lurid comments being made by the demons. “That’s it, focus on me. Just on me. Keep those baby blues on what I’m doing to you.”

Castiel raised his head and saw Lucifer was watching him, drinking him in, and the look on his face, the sheer want- it sent arousal zigzagging down his spine like a bolt of electricity. To be wanted this way by another angel, by the devil, should not have affected him so, but the shame wasn’t enough to dull his arousal.

Lucifer leaned forward, cool lips sliding along the rough edge of his jaw, up to his ear, teeth closing briefly over the hot shell before he withdrew to murmur against Castiel’s mouth. “How about a kiss?” He didn’t wait for a response, closing the hairs breadth of space between them to mould his mouth over Castiel’s. His tongue probed into Castiel’s mouth, slick and slitted, sliding over Castiel’s hard palate and incisors and molars, tasting as much of him as he could reach. Castiel squirmed beneath the attention of Lucifer’s hand and tongue, already so close to his finish that his cock was twitching in Lucifer’s grip. Not once did Lucifer’s stroking slow or stutter as he kissed Castiel.

Just as he was reaching his precipice, Lucifer’s strokes came to a stop and he pressed his pointer and middle finger over Castiel's slit, as though to prevent the evacuation of come. Castiel gave a ragged breath and looked inquisitively and a little unhappily at Lucifer, who laughed at his expression.

“And I thought you’d hate every minute of this,” said Lucifer.

“I do,” Castiel insisted, his breathless arousal belying his words. He heard Dipper chuckle, but paid it no mind.

“Well, _I’m_ growing to find this arrangement…” Lucifer licked his lips. “Agreeable.” He raised his fingers to his lips, slicked them up with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue before lowering them to Castiel’s ass, tracing them over his entrance. “Don’t worry, you’ll be getting off in a minute.”

The slow, rough drag of Lucifer’s fingers over such a sensitive place felt strangely pleasant. “I’m not worried,” said Castiel. He was, however, needy, his cock hard and red and sticking right up into the air.

Slowly, with his eyes trained on Castiel, Lucifer slid a finger into his entrance. It felt much larger than it actually was, almost painful as it was eased into the tight hold of his hole. Castiel had some vague idea of how sex between men worked from depictions in art, but he currently wasn’t sure why anyone would _want_ to have sex this way. There was no pleasure at all and he didn’t know what Lucifer was wiggling around his insides in search of-

Then he stroked over something, something small and sensitive that made Castiel choke on a breath. He touched it again, and again, and slowly that first jolt of pleasure grew into waves of pure euphoric bliss, unlike anything Castiel had experienced in his limited foray into sexuality. All of him rapidly became hot and over-sensitive; he felt every hair follicle, every bead of sweat, every inch of skin, and he could have cried from how wonderfully, perfectly overwhelming it all was.

“Castiel,” said Lucifer gently, swiping a thumb over Castiel’s cheek. Apparently he already had begun to cry, and he was too deep in the euphoria to be appropriately embarrassed about it.

Lucifer cupped a hand under his chin, his breath ghosting over Castiel’s lips as he rubbed persistently at that sensitive bundle of nerves within Castiel. He was so close now that pre-come had risen to the tip of his cock, trembling in place as Castiel rocked mindlessly back onto the calloused pad of Lucifer’s finger. He would be angry at himself later, humiliated, but right now- god, his head was fuzzy, his body was hot, his thighs were trembling, his fingers and toes were curling, his lips were moving around periodic moans and groans, and he was clenching down hungrily on Lucifer’s finger. He didn’t notice when Lucifer added another, just shouted as additional pressure was applied to his sweet spot and sought to grind down upon it. 

He couldn’t remember it being this overwhelming with April. Perhaps because he’d been human, perhaps because, like this, he could feel the barest traces of Lucifer’s grace rubbing up against his own, intensifying the sensations, making it more intimate, a more complete union. Distantly, he was starting to understand why God had made them sexless beings.

The fingers abruptly withdrew, and Castiel sluggish mind only processed this several seconds after the fact. He whimpered, twisting his fingers into Lucifer’s jacket, wanton in a way he’d never even thought himself capable of, and then Lucifer was shucking his trousers out of the way and pressing the leathery head of his cock against Castiel's entrance. If Lucifer’s hands hadn’t closed around his hips, holding him in place, he probably would have pressed himself down onto his cock and fucked himself on it with a mindless desperation.

“I’ve never had sex with another angel before,” Lucifer breathed. “And my, I’m thinking it’s going to have to become a regular activity.”

Without so much as a whisper of a warning, he slammed his way inside. He met no resistance. He slid right in, right up to the hilt, and Castiel opened up to him like Lucifer was meant to be there. The moment pressure was applied to his overstimulated prostate, Castiel was shouting and clawing his fingers into Lucifer’s arms and arching his back until his shoulders struck the wall. He trembled and clenched around Lucifer’s cock, as though to hold it inside him, and Lucifer hadn’t even managed to try moving before Castiel spilled onto his own stomach, sending sticky strings of come soaking into the white of his shirt.

The darkness of completion closed over Castiel’s mind. For one long, blissful moment, he was no longer in Asmodeus’ dungeon, no longer at the mercy of filthy demons who’d likely just gotten started with their lurid demands. He was just warm and empty and floating.

Faintly, he heard Lucifer murmur, “Beautiful,” then Lucifer was scooping up his come in three fingers and drawing out of Castiel to coat his cock in it. Some impromptu lubrication, and Castiel willed forth some focus so he could watch Lucifer apply it. If he hadn’t just climaxed, his cock would have been hardening again.

Once his cock was adequately lubricated, Lucifer took hold of Castiel’s hips again, shot Castiel a smile, and slammed his way back inside, sending Castiel’s shoulders jarring against the wall. Castiel shouted and curled his arms tight around Lucifer’s shoulders while the man chased his own orgasm with jack-hammer thrusts. His hips were striking Castiel’s thighs with such force he would undoubtedly have bruises there later. And again, his cock stroked over that sensitive bundle of nerves within Castiel and rendered Castiel weak and hot and slumped into Lucifer as though he were little more than a receptacle for Lucifer's lust.

It didn’t take long for Lucifer to drag him over the precipice again. He shuddered in Lucifer’s grip, his jaw hanging loose and a half-realised, tapering shout falling from his lips. Lucifer drew him into a kiss before he’d managed to catch his breath and kept their lips tight together as his thrusts started to lose tempo. When finally his movements stilled and he filled Castiel with a spreading chill, he breathed a low, guttural groan right into Castiel’s mouth and fluttered his eyes shut. Castiel watched him. He looked- God, he looked-

Castiel held onto him, breathed him in. Lucifer cradled him in turn, resting his head against Castiel’s like they were a couple, like they were in love. Maybe they were, for all of a moment, before the euphoria started to ebb and both of them remembered exactly where they were and why they’d just done what they had.

Castiel was first to move, of course. He slowly lowered his shaking legs to the floor and tugged his trousers back up, paying no mind to Lucifer’s finish leaking down the inside of his thigh. When Lucifer guided him into laying down, face to the wall, Castiel didn’t resist him. He was bone-tired.

“You’re going to ache after that. Rest.”

Then he turned, and Castiel drifted.

“Was that good enough for you vultures?”

“Too good, I’d say,” said a demon- Dipper, Castiel suspected, but he wasn’t focused enough to confidently apply an identity. “We’ll _definitely_ have to have a go ourselves tomorrow.”

Castiel blocked out the conversation following that promise, so he didn’t hear the proprietorial growl Lucifer gave in response.

* * *

“Hey, pretty boy.”

Castiel turned onto his back to find Lucifer hovering over him. The bliss of being well-fucked had long since receded and Castiel lay cold and humiliated on the bench, barely able to meet his brothers eye. Lucifer didn’t seem troubled at all despite the reservations he’d initially expressed, but Lucifer hadn’t been the one moaning and writhing like a whore on the cock of his enemy. Not only his enemy, in fact; his murderer, his tormentor, the literal devil, and Castiel had spread his legs (to the greatest extent he could with his trousers twisted around his thighs) for him the moment he’d introduced Castiel to a little pleasure. He could hardly believe how thoroughly he’d lost control.

“What?” he asked dourly.

“Oh, don’t sulk.” Lucifer pressed Castiel's legs to the wall so he could perch next to them. “Two explosive orgasms is hardly something to look so miserable about. And-“ He threw open his jacket, plucking the stick he’d been working on from the waistband of his jeans. “It’s ready.”

Impressively, he’d managed to grind the stick down to a fine point. Or as fine a point as one could achieve using cement in lieu of sandpaper.

Castiel threw himself upright and checked that Dipper wasn’t nearby, then reached down to unzip his trousers and shove them out of the way so Lucifer would have access to his pelvis. Considering what the demons had in store for him tomorrow, he needed to get free sooner rather than later.

“Eager, are we?” Lucifer winked, and Castiel cast him one of his characteristic scowls.

“Get on with it.” He nudged his underwear out of the way, willing his face not to warm as he recalled the last time he'd had them lowered.

“Fine, fine.” Lucifer turned in place and hunched over Castiel, positioning himself in such a way that he hid Castiel’s lower half from view. He set the end of the stake against Castiel’s hip, looking to Castiel for confirmation this was the place the sigil had been drawn – Castiel nodded – and then he drove his palm down hard on the end.

Pain burst under the skin and Castiel fingers scrabbled involuntarily over the surface of the bench, seeking purchase. Lucifer slammed his hand down again, and Castiel hissed and let his head hang between his shoulders, staring up at the ceiling.

“Almost got it,” said Lucifer, despite the fact he’d no means of being able to tell when the sigil broke. It was Castiel who would notice first.

He did it again, and once more, and Castiel was so occupied with taking steady breaths through the pain that he didn’t notice the stick being withdrawn, nor the footsteps that approached the cell.

“Really?” said Dipper, and that got Castiel’s attention. He snapped his attention to the cell door, where Dipper was standing with a sickle of a grin on his lips. “You fuck once and now you can’t get enough of each other, huh? If you’re that eager, you might as well give us another show.”

“Well, we’re not eager now,” said Lucifer, which Castiel tried to back up, but Dipper spoke before he could.

“I’m sure you’ll manage," said Dipper. "I’ll return shortly, boys. Keep going.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Castiel how he must look with Lucifer hunched over his crotch. There was no preventing the spread of heat to his cheeks. He loathed the way human bodies were sometimes; his other forms weren't even capable of any visual indications of embarrassment.

“You heard him,” he snapped to Lucifer, who seemed to have paused to appreciate the irony of the situation. “He’ll be ‘back shortly’. Get it done, or-!” He cut off into a shout as Lucifer obliged his demand, grinding the stick hard against his pelvis, hard enough that he could _hear_ the scrape of wood over bone.

It was as though some invisible barrier faded away when the sigil finally broke. He caught Lucifer by the wrist to prevent further harm, fingers shaking minutely from the relief of being able to regenerate grace again. Albeit, at a snails pace, so it’d be some time before he was topped up enough to make an escape.

“What do we say?” asked Lucifer.

“Fuck you,” said Castiel evenly.

Lucifer's eyebrows shot up. “What a mouth those Winchester’s have given you, Castiel. Am I going to have to teach you some manners?”

“You ought to start with yourself, if manners are a concern," said Castiel.

He fumbled his trousers back into place and had just finished doing up the zip when the demons arrived at the entrance to their cell. He knew what it looked like, and he didn’t try to give them any other impression since it was a perfect cover for their actual activities.

“Oh, seriously?” said the green-eyed demon. “We missed it? Fuck.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t even gone that long.”

“Sorry boys,” said Lucifer, offering a winning smile - or what Lucifer thought was a winning smile, anyway. “I’d provide another show, but Cassandra here has a terrible refractory period. I mean, you’d think being an angel that his stamina would be more impressive, but he’s so inexperienced it’s like dealing with a teenager who comes in their pants after two minutes of a handy.”

Castiel looked mildly offended. The demons laughed.

“We’ve come all this way. We ought to get something,” said Dipper, making himself comfortable against the bars. “Come on. Demonstrate some creativity.”

“Well,” said Lucifer, stroking his chin as if he was giving this demand some great thought. “If you insist, I suppose I could come up with _something_.”

And Castiel had hoped they’d be able to escape this place with only one obscenity endured. He really ought to have learnt by now not to hope for anything.

“We do,” said the bearded demon, and Castiel noticed with disgust that he had tented trousers. They hadn’t even done anything yet. Apparently the mere thought of seeing them soil each other again had been enough to get him worked up.

“Mind if we get some peace and quiet after?” asked Lucifer, clapping a hand over Castiel's shoulder. “I’ll even ready him for you if you give us a reprieve until tomorrow evening. I’ll make him nice and pliant so you won’t be scraping off your foreskins while trying to enter him.”

All but Dipper flinched at that description. Castiel flinched as well, for an entirely different reason.

“Trust me,” continued Lucifer, directing his words to Dipper now. “He’s an angel: he will tear it right off if he’s not adequately prepared, and only another angel can do that effectively.”

“You guys fuck in heaven?” spluttered the bearded demon, seeming thrilled with the idea.

“It _is_ meant to be paradise,” said Lucifer with a shrug. “It’s just, you know… all vanilla and innocent up there, and obviously the foot solider types are kept from the distraction.”

It was a lie, of course, but the demons seemed eager to accept that angels were complicit in hedonism. The bulk of angels didn’t even know how sex worked, and that had included Castiel just a few years prior. He’d always known of sex; he just hadn’t been aware of the intricacies since he wasn’t in the habit of watching humans in their most intimate moments. Frankly, the act had seemed unhygienic and boring until he'd tried it himself.

"What else?" asked the bearded demon, and Dipper slapped him on the shoulder. 

"Later," said Dipper. "I want to _see_ , not _hear_."

"Oh, fine," said the bearded demon, bottom lip protruding like that of a petulant child.

Dipper curled his hands around the bars, giving one of them a slow, languid stroke and tipping his eyebrows at Lucifer. “Go on then,” he said, a low hum erupting from the bars as he struck them with his knuckles. “You give us a show, you get a day to loosen that hole for us. Prove you can do it.”

Being spoken about in such a manner set Castiel’s teeth on edge. He glowered at the demons, which would have been a more effective attempt at intimidation were he not about to be subjected to yet another humiliation for their amusement.

"Sounds fair," said Lucifer. “Get on the floor for me, Castiel.”

Castiel snapped his head back around to Lucifer, and he startled at the sight of Lucifer’s cock already hanging out. Once Castiel's eyes were on it, Lucifer smiled and curled his fingers around the middle, giving it one long, languid stroke. Castiel pressed his thighs together in the vain hope it would stifle the blood racing into his own cock. 

“And do what?” he asked, awkwardly sliding his legs off the bench. Now that they’d begun, he refused to pay the demons any mind. Just focus on Lucifer. That had helped him get through yesterday sex. Which was strange, because it was _Lucifer_ , but apparently he had a slight advantage over demons.

“Kneel.” Lucifer looked to be enjoying this a touch too much. “And open your mouth.”

Oral. Castiel knew what that was from art as well, which was the extent of his knowledge. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to perform it and he suspected Lucifer would soon come to regret deciding upon that as their demonstration.

After a moment of hesitation, he pressed his knees tight together and knelt. After another moment, he opened his mouth.

“None of that,” said Lucifer, slipping a foot between his legs and forcing them apart, unveiling his crotch.

The arousal was obvious. The demons flung mocking remarks and it took all Castiel’s willpower to continue facing Lucifer with his mouth wide open. He felt a fool. He knew he looked a fool, too.

Lucifer came to stand between his thighs, using his feet to keep them pinned apart. His cock sat a bare inch from Castiel face. It was large, girthy, red-tipped and veiny, and watching Lucifer stroke it to hardness before his eyes made arousal shoot through Castiel like a thunderclap. His heart thundered madly under his rib cage. He was sure his pulse was going at such a speed that the steady thrum was visible in his neck.

Lucifer didn’t glide his cock past Castiel’s teeth and into his throat like he’d been anticipating. Instead he placed the cool head of his cock on Castiel’s tongue and rubbed against it, continuing to stroke in time with the gentle rocking of his hips. It was odd, and... not unpleasant. Castiel liked the smoothness of that leathery head; liked the musk and salt it spread over his tongue. His cock was hardening from how very compelling those things were, and he was acutely aware of the dried come on the inside of his thigh as his cock strained against his underwear. The reminder of their earlier activities served as yet another source of arousal.

At this point in his life, Castiel had thought he’d fallen as far as was possible. Evidently he’d still had room to dig.

He wasn’t writhing and moaning like he had yesterday, at least. Just kneeling while Lucifer made use of his tongue. The lack of involvement meant he could drift on the edge of awareness, a pleasant fugue from the humiliation of the situation. The smell, taste, and feel of Lucifer’s cock breached it, but those weren’t things he was trying to fight anyway.

He watched Lucifer through his eyelashes and saw that the desirous expression from earlier had returned. Lucifer licked his lips and looked very much like he wanted to sink in right to the hilt, so it was surprising when he didn’t. He just curled a hand around the back of Castiel’s head and continued to roll his hips, grinding his cock against the plush of Castiel's tongue. 

"You look stunning like this," Lucifer murmured, low enough to be audible just to Castiel. "I could... I could finish just looking at you." His breath was hitching every other word, and Castiel's treacherous cock hardened even further.

The roll of Lucifer's hips soon turned into shallow thrusts, and he was bumping up against Castiel's palate when finally he reached his completion, sending strings of come splashing over Castiel’s tongue and lips and dripping down his chin to pearl on his coat.

The taste and texture of it snapped Castiel out of his daze. He turned to spit, grimacing at the taste. ‘Every molecule’ of ejaculation wasn’t exactly pleasant. The demons howled with laughter behind him and he forced himself not to turn, least he see the lust on them.

“You did good,” said Lucifer, running his fingers through Castiel’s mussed up hair. A form of praise Castiel found embarrassing, but had to put up with for the satisfaction of the demons. The sooner they were assured of Lucifer’s control over him, the sooner they would leave.

Lucifer zipped himself back up with one hand and turned to address the demons. “Good enough for you?”

“Passable,” said Dipper. “Guess we’ll have to be the ones to teach him how to swallow, though.”

“I’ll make an effort on that tomorrow,” said Lucifer, shrugging a shoulder and stepping away from Castiel. Castiel turned his head just enough to see him gesture to the bearded demon. “Mmm, okay, you. You look like a James.”

“What?" said the demon. "No. It’s Mason.”

“Well, that’s just unfortunate.” This got another laugh out of the demons – all but Mason, of course. “It seems like you need some alone time. ‘Spose all of you do, but wow, I don’t even need to ask if there’s something in _your_ pants. I can see every detail of your cock through that flimsy fabric. You need to invest in thicker trousers.”

Even for a demon, this was crude enough to get a splutter. “Oh, fuck off,” said Mason. “ _You_ just whipped your dick out in front of us.”

“Yeah,” said Lucifer. “But _that_ was intentional.”

Castiel heard the slap of a hand against the bars, then retreating footsteps, and he still didn’t turn around, busying himself with cleaning his mouth and chin. Once his grace had returned to full capacity, he’d be able to clean himself with a thought, but he was still going to have a long, hot shower once he got back to the bunker and scrub his skin until the feeling of being sullied faded. Courtesy of being periodically subjected to water torture, he wasn’t actually dirty on a surface level, but he didn’t _feel_ that way after he’d not only been intimate with Lucifer, his enemy, a fellow angel, but _enjoyed_ it.

He couldn’t hide from the fact that he had. He’d enjoyed been taken, and he’d enjoyed being wanted, and it wasn’t something he could attribute solely to the passion inherent in sharing a species with Lucifer. He’d grown over the past few weeks to find some comfort in Lucifer’s presence, and he was sure that had impacted their forays into intimacy. Weakened him. 

He didn’t notice they were alone until Lucifer dropped down in front of him. “How’s the grace recovery going?”

“Slowly,” said Castiel mechanically.

Lucifer frowned. “You’re sulking again.”

Castiel raised his head to glower at him. “All things considered, I think I should be allowed.” And wryly, he added: “I didn’t even orgasm this time, so you can’t criticise me with that.”

“Would you _like_ to orgasm? Because I can accommodate.”

“That’s not the point,” said Castiel, annoyed. “I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to do any of that. I-“ He swallowed thickly. “Do you have no reservations about this at all?”

“About being made to perform sex acts with a brother angel for the amusement of demons holding me prisoner?” asked Lucifer with a snort, and Castiel immediately realised how foolish the question had been. “But," continue Lucifer, holding up a finger. "I will admit that sans the demons, it would have been a perfectly enjoyable experience. You’re a delight, Castiel, so that’s what I’m focusing on here.”

Castiel eyed him. He didn’t know what to say to the interest, so he glossed over it. “Shouldn't you be thinking of an escape?”

“Some of us are capable of thinking about one thing at a time,” said Lucifer. “Benefit of having a less constipated personality.”

Castiel dropped his face into a hand and pressed a sigh through the gaps of his fingers. “You’re going to have to try to be a little more ‘constipated’, because we need a plan.” Rising to his feet, Castiel approached the bench and gestured for Lucifer to join him. He studiously ignored the fact he was still aroused. “Those three demons aren’t the only ones we have to worry about, and I doubt I’ll be able to smite more than one or two with as little grace as I’ll have.”

“If we deal with them fast, we won’t have to worry about them at all,” said Lucifer, shrugging and crossing the room to perch himself beside Castiel. “You calling dibs on any?”

Castiel turned an exasperated look on him. “Are _you_?”

“Yeah,” said Lucifer, lips curling away from his teeth in a deeply unpleasant smile. “Dipper.”

* * *

The moment the demons opened the cage door to retrieve Castiel, who was lying pliant – or pretending to – in Lucifer’s arms, Castiel was thrown bodily into them. They didn’t realise this hadn’t simply been Lucifer’s idea of humour until Castiel had slapped his palms to the foreheads of two of the demons, and by that point, it was too late for them to react. He thudded to the ground along with the burnt-out husks of Mason and the green-eyed demon, leaving only Dipper to deal with. Lucifer had already laid claim, so Castiel tore an angel blade from the waistband of Mason, tossed it to Lucifer, and proceeded to slam a foot hard enough into Dipper’s back to send him crashing to Lucifer’s feet.

“Thanks, little brother,” said Lucifer, snapping a foot over Dipper’s neck to keep him in place.

Castiel didn’t watch the excruciating death that followed, but he certainly heard the spill of viscera and the choking, guttural screams of Dipper, and smelt the blood thick and inescapable in the air. By the time Lucifer had retrieved the key for his restraints from Dipper and joined him in the hall, now wearing half of Dipper’s blood capacity on his clothes, four more demons had appeared to defend the path out.

By alternating between using the angel blades as projectiles and close-combat weapons, they made quick work of their assailants and soon stepped out into the cool, mid-day air of Massachusetts. They only started to slow once at the bottom of the stairs leading to the asylum, and that was only because they were still both weak enough to need to take a breather.

“There’ll be more of them coming,” said Castiel.

“You know,” said Lucifer, leaning against the railing to catch his breath. “This would be so much easier if I was stronger.”

Castiel made a noise of exasperation. “Save it,” he said, catching Lucifer about the arm and pulling him bodily toward the thick of the surrounding forest. Lucifer gave a grunt of protest, but otherwise let Castiel guide them toward safety. “You want to deal with Michael? You need to be cooperative, and that starts with not trying to cannibalise me.”

“How about a little cooperation on _your_ end?”

Castiel cast a glare over his shoulder. “We’ve already tried that. You immediately betrayed me.”

“Well, it’s not like I tortured you, is it?” said Lucifer. “I mostly left you alone, let you have your little TV-“

“Which you had play indoctrination every minute I was stuck in my own head! You mangled my mind until I was compliant!”

“You wouldn’t stop whinging otherwise.”

"I wouldn't have needed to complain if you'd cooperated with me," snarled Castiel. 

Lucifer gave a put-upon sort of sigh. "Our ideas of what needed to be done weren't compatible. I _had_ to lock you in there."

“You-“ Castiel had little patience for Lucifer to speak of, and what little existed had just been swept away by Lucifer's obstinance. He slowed to a stop at the edge of the forest and turned to face Lucifer. “You said you never wanted to be my enemy," he said cooly. "You never wanted to destroy your own family, but your family needs you now and the only thing you can think about – the only thing you ever think about – is what you want.”

"That-" Lucifer tried, but Castiel just spoke over him.

“Your own son can’t stand you," he snapped. "He can’t stand anything you represent, and you still fight doing the right thing on the basis that it doesn’t serve _you_.”

Lucifer’s jaw visibly tightened.

"I am done arguing with you," said Castiel, raising an angel blade between them, his nostrils flared in anger. Leaves crunched underfoot as he took a step closer, leaving just an arms-width of space between them. "You either cooperate or I'm done dealing with you. So what will it be, Lucifer? Are you going to continue stamping your feet like a petulant child? Do I need to drain what little grace remains in you and leave you to die, cold and alone in this forest? Or are you going to cooperate-?” 

His ultimatum had barely managed to leave his mouth before he felt the back of his head strike the wood of a tree. How he’d ended up there didn’t become apparent until he saw, through blurry, wobbling vision, that Lucifer had his hand extended as though to hit him and a startled look on his face. He looked at Castiel, then down at his hand, then back to Castiel again, like he was contemplating just what he wanted to do now that he had access to some of his abilities.

“Rage,” said Lucifer, stepping through detritus to stand before Castiel. He kicked Castiel's angel blade away when Castiel reached for it, closing a foot over Castiel’s wrist. Not so hard that Castiel could feel the bones grind, but hard enough that Castiel wasn’t able to wrench it free. “Great motivator, apparently.”

Blood trickled down the back of Castiel’s head and soaked into the collar of his shirt. The wound had already healed, but it was taking longer for the dizziness to fade.

“Are you going to kill me? _Again_?” Castiel eyed the angle blade hanging loose in Lucifer’s fist.

“My son is fond of you," said Lucifer. "Seems counterproductive.” He hunched down with eyes aflame, closing his other leg over Castiel’s free wrist before Castiel could make a grab for him. “And he _does_ need a mother in his life. Since the brood mare is unavailable, you’ll have to do.”

“Which means-?”

“I’m saying…” He set the tip of the blade against Castiel's throat, sliding it slowly across his skin and leaning down to lap up the grace that spilled out. There was barely a trickle remaining when he drew back and closed the wound with a scrape of his lips. He'd left him with even less than the demons had. His next words came murmured into Castiel’s skin. “I’m going to cooperate with you, prioritise my family, and you can bitch and whine about me taking a gulp of your grace all you like, but I have wings, and I am _not_ putting up spending hours sitting in a car.”

“How is _this_ cooperating?” Castiel choked out, weighed down by the sudden absence of all but a fraction of his grace. He tried yanking his arms out from under Lucifer to no avail.

“I said ‘going to’, didn’t I?” Lucifer released Castiel, but only so he could haul him into his arms a moment later and pin Castiel’s back to his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll let the apes know I had to _physically_ persuade you so they don’t think you’ve gone fraternising with me again.”

Castiel squirmed and kicked his feet and slammed his fists into whatever he could reach of Lucifer, but with so little grace left in him, he was practically human, too weak to compel Lucifer to release him. 

“Think they’ll let us share a room?” asked Lucifer, his breath rolling cool over Castiel’s ear. “Or will you just have to bounce on my cock while I’m chained up in the dungeon?”

“Release me,” Castiel hissed.

Lucifer smiled and pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw. “We could also have a quickie here, if you like.”

“You’re abominable.”

“I am,” agreed Lucifer. “I might be more agreeable after sex, but if you aren’t going to put out…”

Within a blink, Castiel found himself standing on concrete. He wobbled in Lucifer’s grip, weak from the earlier attack and no longer able to heal the damage completely, but he still started to struggle once he’d recovered his bearings. Lucifer paid him little mind. A near-graceless angel against an archangel, even one with a fraction of its power, was no contest.

Lucifer raised a fist and rapped his knuckles on the door. Movement could be heard through the thick iron.

“Show time,” said Lucifer.

Castiel took a deep breath in preparation for the ordeal ahead. This was going to require a lot of explanation.


End file.
